Mime's spoon.
Mime wanted me to tell him a story.. He didnt like my first one.. Which was; Once apon a time.. There was mime who liked little boys.. Shortly after acting on this fetish, a large man who was the father of the little boy the mime acted out apon. Came, and craped a VW up the Mime's ass.. From that time on the Mime was not a Mime.. But a living statue.. The end.
He said he wanted something 'well thought out'.. Well here is is..
"Mime, for the love of god, go brush your teeth", a man called out from behind a computer chair, hardly ever seen any where else but this spot. A bottle cap and an unsuccessful burned cd few through the air in the direction of Mime, who was on the other side of the apartment playing an upgraded version of pong that he had become more than just addicted to. It was the third time this week that the skinner, paler, and recently balder, batcher of this small, quaint, appartment had been disrupted from his game, and he was becoming quite annoyed with every passing moment. Down cast music came from the speakers of the silent one's computer as his last ball went flying off screen. He had just lost the game. "Fuck", he said softly in that disgruntled tone that only Mime could manage. Smacking the mouse to the side he stood with one fluid motion and made his way to the bathroom to brush his teeth. He stared at himself in the mirror as if to challenge the reflection to jump over the counter and finish something it had started. The constant clicking and soft chuckle could be heard through the paper thin walls of the apartment. Dylan, the master of the leather brown chair was very likely having a conversation with an online friend of his from Hawaii. Every one who had stepped into the apartment in the past few months had cracked jokes about Dylan and his mystery friend from the islands. Some were even bold enough to claim they were lovers. Though those rumors were quickly stifled, yet still lingered in the back of the gossipers minds.
Mime ran a hand over the quickly growing stubble that was once his hair. It had been a little over a week since he had signed the warrant for his hair's execution and yet the little bastards were still putting up a fight. Still willing to protest the already made decision. His tooth brush sat to the right side of the counter dry as a bone, hardly touched for days. Nothing mattered any more to him but his upgraded game of pong. One of witch the chair Nazi had caused him to lose. Mime flicked the toothbrush to the side like a paper foot ball, the target being the toilet bowl. A field goal! The toothbrush landed in the open bowl with a slight splash and a large smirk of satisfaction played across the pale man's face. Yes, he had accomplished something at that moment. He had defied the chair Nazi, the king of the leather chair, the holder of the keyboard, the defiler of pong. But why stop there? Mime grabbed a discarded can of shaving cream and began his art work on the mirror. "Fuck you chair Nazi, fuck you!", the disgruntled man wrote with glee.
Yes, he had gone even farther now. And yet again, why stop there? Wildly he searched the bathroom for something useful. A razor maybe? Even a can of spray on deodorant and a lighter would work at this point. But no, not for this wild eyed, angsty Mime, all he got was a plunger and a spoon. He looked down at his loot with disbelief. He had been living here for a little under a year and he hadn't managed to hide anything that could be used in a random act of violence!? "Damn it!", he screamed inside his head, "First pong, now this?!". It just really wasn't his day.
Maybe it was the three days of sleep deprivation spent on his glorious game of pong, maybe it was the thought of obliterating the friends that lived on his teeth. We may never know what drove this poor man to rush out of the bathroom armed only with a plunger and a spoon to face the chair Nazi, the king of the leather chair, the holder of the keyboard, and defiler of pong.
Dylan looked up at Mime very much so confused and tipped his head to the side, "Dude, what the hell are you doing?", The chair Nazi had spoken, and suddenly Mime snapped out of his stopper and looked around him. Lowering his spoon and plunger and dropped them needlessly to the side and shrugged. "I.. I.. Oh, nothing", Mime sputtered before trudging back over to his beautiful game of pong, back to where he felt wanted, and set himself down into his ass groove in the carpet. Ready to start the game, and the insanity all over again.
He said he wanted something 'well thought out'.. Well here is is..
"Mime, for the love of god, go brush your teeth", a man called out from behind a computer chair, hardly ever seen any where else but this spot. A bottle cap and an unsuccessful burned cd few through the air in the direction of Mime, who was on the other side of the apartment playing an upgraded version of pong that he had become more than just addicted to. It was the third time this week that the skinner, paler, and recently balder, batcher of this small, quaint, appartment had been disrupted from his game, and he was becoming quite annoyed with every passing moment. Down cast music came from the speakers of the silent one's computer as his last ball went flying off screen. He had just lost the game. "Fuck", he said softly in that disgruntled tone that only Mime could manage. Smacking the mouse to the side he stood with one fluid motion and made his way to the bathroom to brush his teeth. He stared at himself in the mirror as if to challenge the reflection to jump over the counter and finish something it had started. The constant clicking and soft chuckle could be heard through the paper thin walls of the apartment. Dylan, the master of the leather brown chair was very likely having a conversation with an online friend of his from Hawaii. Every one who had stepped into the apartment in the past few months had cracked jokes about Dylan and his mystery friend from the islands. Some were even bold enough to claim they were lovers. Though those rumors were quickly stifled, yet still lingered in the back of the gossipers minds.
Mime ran a hand over the quickly growing stubble that was once his hair. It had been a little over a week since he had signed the warrant for his hair's execution and yet the little bastards were still putting up a fight. Still willing to protest the already made decision. His tooth brush sat to the right side of the counter dry as a bone, hardly touched for days. Nothing mattered any more to him but his upgraded game of pong. One of witch the chair Nazi had caused him to lose. Mime flicked the toothbrush to the side like a paper foot ball, the target being the toilet bowl. A field goal! The toothbrush landed in the open bowl with a slight splash and a large smirk of satisfaction played across the pale man's face. Yes, he had accomplished something at that moment. He had defied the chair Nazi, the king of the leather chair, the holder of the keyboard, the defiler of pong. But why stop there? Mime grabbed a discarded can of shaving cream and began his art work on the mirror. "Fuck you chair Nazi, fuck you!", the disgruntled man wrote with glee.
Yes, he had gone even farther now. And yet again, why stop there? Wildly he searched the bathroom for something useful. A razor maybe? Even a can of spray on deodorant and a lighter would work at this point. But no, not for this wild eyed, angsty Mime, all he got was a plunger and a spoon. He looked down at his loot with disbelief. He had been living here for a little under a year and he hadn't managed to hide anything that could be used in a random act of violence!? "Damn it!", he screamed inside his head, "First pong, now this?!". It just really wasn't his day.
Maybe it was the three days of sleep deprivation spent on his glorious game of pong, maybe it was the thought of obliterating the friends that lived on his teeth. We may never know what drove this poor man to rush out of the bathroom armed only with a plunger and a spoon to face the chair Nazi, the king of the leather chair, the holder of the keyboard, and defiler of pong.
Dylan looked up at Mime very much so confused and tipped his head to the side, "Dude, what the hell are you doing?", The chair Nazi had spoken, and suddenly Mime snapped out of his stopper and looked around him. Lowering his spoon and plunger and dropped them needlessly to the side and shrugged. "I.. I.. Oh, nothing", Mime sputtered before trudging back over to his beautiful game of pong, back to where he felt wanted, and set himself down into his ass groove in the carpet. Ready to start the game, and the insanity all over again.